


Hole

by edy



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anger Management, Anxiety, Enemies to Lovers, Guilt, Hoarding, M/M, Minor Violence, Recovery, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-11-04 14:13:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10992588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edy/pseuds/edy
Summary: "I swear to fucking God, Tyler," he yells at the top of his lungs, from his own apartment. His voice is loud and right above Tyler's head. "If I have to smell this shit wafting through the air vents forone more day, I'm gonna fucking report you."





	Hole

**Author's Note:**

> translation into русский available: [Дыра](https://ficbook.net/readfic/5680252) by [RunTheConverse](https://ficbook.net/authors/288286)

The holes are small enough for ants to pass through with no difficulty. Any bigger, maybe a fly, maybe a fingernail; but any bigger, and the hole would need to be patched by amalgam and latex gloves and foggy glasses. Lidocaine, articaine, nitrous oxide, choose the fucking poison—trash bags are his, and his grandmother's were cardboard boxes.

"Come closer," she would whisper. "Help me put this one in the attic with the others."

His toes stubbed all the way up the rickety attic ladder, and his elbows came away bruised, but there was always another one and another one and another one—

He rolls the tooth in between his palms, the roots long and sharp, not a baby tooth. He feels sorry for the poor bastard who lives at 1123 Hill Street.

It's yellow, stained with nicotine and remnants of his grandmother. She wore dentures, would never check them after applying her lipstick. Bright red, it matched the color of her inflamed gums whenever she dropped her teeth into a glass on the nightstand every night. "Come closer," she would whisper. "Help me keep this secret."

She gave him cough drops often. They tasted awful and were counterproductive in nature. He choked, and she unraveled more of those sickly cherry drops to launch down his throat. "Come closer," she would whisper. "Help me get better."

It was a call for help. Pockets of her cardigan lined with wrappers, her slippers old and not able to hold any traction, she found another cardboard box full of God Knows What and climbed up those attic steps. She was alone. She went too far. She reached, and she fell, and the ceiling fell, and the boxes killed her. That's what the doctor said.

"The boxes killed her. Fractured her ribs. Punctured a lung. She died slowly and painfully."

His mother cried, and he did, too. Snot bubbles and sticking his fingers into his ears, if he closed his eyes and didn't fucking think, everything would return to normal. It didn't.

It was his dad who dragged them to that house, his mother inconsolable. "I don't want to be in that place right now," she said, but she went inside, and she pulled him to the hallway where the attic fell, and she said, "Holy shit." She said, "Holy fucking shit."

"Shit," he said, and his mom smacked the back of her hand across his mouth.

"Don't talk like that. Pick up that box. Move it into the kitchen. We can look through it in there."

"It smells."

"Shut up."

Grief, grieving, he picked up the first of many boxes and brought it into the kitchen. His dad was there, shaking his head with his hands on his hips. "How did it get to this?"

"Doesn't everybody have messy attics?"

His mom appeared with a box of her own, tears in her eyes. "She kept these old newspapers. What's in your box?"

So, he opened it, and he found baby teeth, adult teeth, animal teeth, hair, fur, dead fur, limp bodies, stiff bodies, one of them was still breathing. As his mom screamed, he ran from the house, jumped into the family van, and drove to the nearest animal hospital.

Missing an eye, ear been chewed on by a raccoon, and a bloated stomach, the kitten wasn't supposed to survive, but she survived, and he kept her, he keeps her, she is his, and she will always be his.

The tooth in his hand scrapes his palm. It burns, bleeds, produces a gasp from his lips that attracts flies and attention.

"Tyler?" he hears. And then, "Are you still back there?"

He's here. He's looking ahead at 1123 Hill Street with contempt in his eyes and blood on his hands. A cigarette hangs from his mouth, a song plays in his head, and he listens to his brother stomp around the side of the green truck, phone pressed to his shoulder. "Tyler," he says, "we gotta go. Busy day."

Tyler stands, hands sliding deep into his jeans. The tooth slips between his fingers, and the blood leaks into the interior of his pockets. "Right, yeah," he mumbles around the cigarette. "Lemme finish this, Zack. Almost done."

Zack climbs into the truck, and Tyler pulls the cigarette from his mouth, grinds the tip into the sidewalk, and drops the butt into his pocket, with the tooth, with the memory of his grandmother.

"Hey," he says, after returning to the passenger seat. The dark material of his jeans hides the blood. "We can go now."

Zack is talking to his wife, but he's able to multitask. Tyler turns his head to look at a teenage boy walk down the steps of the house. He's rubbing his jaw and twirling a cigarette between his fingers. There's a dog at his heels. Tyler shoots them both a peace sign as Zack drives the rest of their route.

*

He's sucking on another cigarette as the work day comes to a close. Zack is texting his wife, and Tyler is nonchalantly dropping a trash bag into the backseat of his car. The windows are tinted, possibly too dark for the legal limit. He's not guilty.

He taps the roof of his car twenty-three times. "Yo, Zack, you mind if I head out now?"

"Yeah, sure, Ty. I'll dump this, take that TV to the depot. You not gonna shower before you head home?"

"I don't smell that bad today."

"Whatever, dude. I don't want to smell you tomorrow."

"You won't."

Zack looks at Tyler as if he knows Tyler's lying. Zack looks at Tyler, but he shrugs and says, "See ya tomorrow."

Tyler dumps this cigarette butt into his pocket, too, and lights another. He flicks on the radio and drums his fingers along the steering wheel twenty-four times.

His car smells. He can't tell.

*

His apartment smells. He can't tell.

He passes his neighbor in the hallway. The guy's hair is green, freshly dyed and streaking his neck along with beads of sweat. A melted leprechaun, the guy's even got some dye on his face, from where he furiously rubbed the skin around his eyes, his forehead. His eyes are red, too. A fucking Christmas tree, he snorts at Tyler and exaggerates his gait as he moves out of Tyler's way.

"Hello to you, too, Josh," Tyler says, and digs his keys from his pocket.

"Another damn trash bag? Man, if you don't—"

"Shut up," Tyler says. Grief, grieving, he doesn't open the door to his apartment until Josh is halfway down the hall, beginning to sprint. Shorts, leggings, tennis shoes, Josh's torso will be stained with the dye by the end of the night.

Tyler goes into his apartment and slithers his hand along the wall to his right, fingers curling and uncurling along the chipped paint. His pinky finds the light switch first. The light is needed, but he doesn't need to look. He doesn't want to look.

He walks, trash bag behind him, trash bag in his arms. He has to hold it as he steps over stacks of newspapers and comic books. He's careful. His elbows skim along makeshift walls, and he tries to suck it in, tries to appear smaller as he walks into the kitchen, down the hall, and turns into his bedroom.

Pepper is on the bed, curled up on a spot clear of laundry. Her ear twitches at Tyler shuffling into the room, her nostrils flaring. She can smell, and Tyler can smell, but Tyler doesn't smell.

"Hi," he greets her, and lowers the trash bag with the others. He tells himself he'll go through it later. There are four trash bags in his room.

"Food?" he asks, and she arches her back and yawns as she stands. They travel to the kitchen together, Tyler high-stepping and Pepper bouncing.

He fills her bowls with too much food from a dollar-store bag of treats and too much water from a plastic bottle. They rest on a spot on the tile floor that isn't covered, that is most certainly the trail to the hallway, to the living room. Tyler picks through his cabinets and finds a packet of ramen that isn't empty. His stove doesn't work, so he fills a mug with water and clears out the microwave. Pepper meows, and Tyler says, "Yeah."

The light from the living room floods into the kitchen. It hits the dishes in the sink and the cardboard boxes along the walls. Tyler rubs his arms and remembers the cigarette butts in his pocket. As his noodles cook, he places the cigarettes in his nightstand drawer and mentally catalogues nearly one hundred and fifty of the orange filters. The tooth goes in another drawer. There are only thirty-two inhabitants in this drawer.

Pepper knows when Tyler isn't paying attention, and she knows when Tyler is stuck in his own head. She knows to step out of the way, and she knows when Tyler needs company. She perches on the arm of the recliner while he eats, the fork plunging into the broth spotted and vintage. The dishwasher hasn't worked in months.

Tyler engages with the television as much as he can. There's a pile of jackets atop the item, a sleeve hanging over the screen to obscure the view. Tyler doesn't notice, and Tyler doesn't care. He slurps his ramen, and Pepper swishes her tail.

At a quarter past eight, Josh returns from his jog. No doubt he'll be green all over, and no doubt he'll be scowling at Tyler's door. Sometimes he slips notes under the door. He does tonight. Tyler reads it before going to bed.

_I'm going to turn you into the fucking landlord._

Tyler doesn't see why Josh would. He slides the note into his pocket, grabs the empty water bottle next to Pepper's water bowl, and heads into his bedroom. The stove doesn't work. The dishwasher doesn't work. The shower, the toilet—Tyler has baby wipes, and Tyler has water bottles.

Josh is bluffing. Tyler can hear him scream while he's lying down for bed, among the cat hair and bundles of socks and coat hangers and—

Josh yells. Tyler lets Pepper crawl onto his face and become earmuffs. He doesn't notice the way her claws are jagged and unable to retract fully into her paws.

*

It took a better part of two months for his grandmother's house to become vacant. Every day, no matter the weather, his mom would guide him and his siblings to the old family home in their respective vehicles to sort through boxes and debris and—

"Dear, God," Zack said, "how could someone live like this?" He directed this question to Tyler because Tyler was the favorite grandchild. He was the eldest, and he played the piano at church every Sunday. "Did you know?" he asked Tyler, as he thumbed through an old porn magazine. "You must have known."

"I—"

"Take this box, Tyler," his mom said. "Oh, and this one—take it to the dumpster at the end of the street, behind that Family Dollar."

Nobody checked the dumpster.

Tyler remembers going to this house and sitting in front of the TV, playing with matches and wondering why they were never discarded. He remembers going to this house and listening to his grandmother speak to his grandfather in the kitchen, asking him when he was coming home.

"It'd just be easier if you were _here_ , so you can _see_ what I'm talking about."

"She was never the same after Dad died," Tyler's mom murmured, flipping pages of a photo album. "Do you think that's what started it?"

Tyler sat on the front porch and chainsmoked cigarettes. His dad thought it was good of him to not litter the lawn.

"We _are_ trying to sell it."

A couple with a yappy dog admired the house and complimented the popcorn pattern on the ceiling. "Thank you," Tyler's mom said. "My son, Jay, touched up the paint."

"It's very relaxing!"

Tyler sat on the front porch with their yappy dog. It smelled Pepper on him and wouldn't stop humping his shin.

Zack sat next to him. "Dad wants me to offer you a job." He turned his phone in his hands. "Something to… build character…"

"Garbage," Tyler said.

"Garbage," Zack said.

"I'll do it," Tyler said.

"You can start Monday," Zack said.

It was a good job. It was a bad job.

They sold his grandmother's house on a Monday, and Tyler strolled the aisles of a grocery store and bought a bag of apples and a newspaper. He peeled off the skins into a trash bag in his kitchen and counted sixteen separate slides of a knife.

Josh didn't bother him then. They moved into the apartment on the same day, were forced to share the elevator as they carried boxes and rolled dollies to their new homes. Josh finished before Tyler. He wanted to know if Tyler wanted any help. Tyler said, "Sure," and Josh helped, and Josh didn't count the number of boxes Tyler had. He wasn't concerned. He wasn't nosy.

"What do you do, man?" he asked, and Tyler licked his lips and said, "Garbage man."

Josh thought it was interesting. He doesn't think it's interesting now.

"I swear to fucking God, Tyler," he yells at the top of his lungs, from his own apartment. His voice is loud and right above Tyler's head. "If I have to smell this shit wafting through the air vents for _one more day_ , I'm gonna fucking report you."

Tyler closes his eyes. Pepper pisses in the corner and yowls.

*

Tyler rubs baby wipes over his face and under his arms. He combs dry shampoo through his hair.

Zack talks to his wife on the phone.

1633 Elm has teeth, too, hidden away with trash from a bathroom bin. The contents spill after the handles break in Tyler's hands. Because of his gloves, he can't feel the sharp roots and cavities on his palms. It doesn't stop Tyler from picking up the teeth and sticking one by one into his pocket.

From the corner of his eye, he catches Zack's luminescent vest approaching from the left. He has a trash bag on his shoulder and a box under his arm. "Hey," he says, and drops the bag into the back of the truck.

Tyler stares at it.

"Bag broke," Zack points out.

"Yeah."

"Hold this. I got that."

Box passed to him, Tyler holds it close to his chest as he watches Zack gather the hair and toilet paper and menstrual products into the bag and dump it into the back with the rest of the rubbish.

"What's in the box?" Tyler asks.

"Laptop," Zack says. "Exterior looks fine. I figured I could give you some cash to fix it up. You need to be on Facebook, bro."

"Facebook."

"Yeah, Facebook. No one gets on Myspace anymore."

"Oh. Totally. I knew that."

*

Josh is returning with a bag from Walmart when Tyler comes home with a bag of his own. Josh immediately groans and immediately races the rest of the way to his apartment.

Tyler doesn't turn on the light when he goes inside. He feeds Pepper and heads straight to bed, falling asleep to the sound of punching and pop music. It's been like this for a year.

*

Zack gives him some money at the end of work. "That should be enough," he says. "Have you started up that laptop yet?"

"No," Tyler says. "I was too tired yesterday."

"Right."

Tyler doesn't bring any trash bags home today, and Josh is surprised. Josh is even surprised to find Tyler knocking on his door an hour later. He isn't callous. He's concerned, worried, pulling Tyler into his apartment with wide eyes. "Dude, is there something wrong?"

"What? No. I mean, like, are you good with technology?"

Josh blinks. "What?"

"Technology. I need help."

"Oh."

Josh's apartment is neat. The carpet is gray. The walls are a faded blue. Blue is relaxing. Tyler sinks into a couch with firm cushions and soft support.

Josh stares at him with a furrowed brow. "You—"

"It smells good in here. Like the ocean."

"Shut the fuck up. What did you need help with?"

"This laptop," Tyler says, "my brother gave it to me, and he also gave me some cash to 'fix it up', but it looks fine, and I don't know what's wrong with it."

"So, you want me to take a look at your laptop and tell you everything that's wrong with it?"

"Yeah."

Josh sits next to Tyler and pulls the laptop onto his thighs. It's already on and doesn't require a password to enter. The previous owner wiped the memory before tossing it.

Tyler stares at Josh. His hair isn't as vibrant, and his neck and behind his ears are still stained. A stud in the shape of a flower replaces the usual ring through his nose.

"How much money did he give you?" Josh turns his head toward Tyler. "Because I don't think there's anything wrong with it. Like, yeah, it's a little slow, but that's nothing a little anti-virus software won't clean up."

"A few hundred dollars."

Josh looks down at the laptop. "Tyler, I don't think that money was to fix this laptop."

"What was it for, then?"

Josh is quiet. He scratches his head and gets green under his nails. "Want me to cook you some dinner? I have, like, a frozen steak."

"Oh." Tyler takes the laptop and slowly smiles. "Sure. That'd be nice."

"Um, what do you want to drink? I've got…" Josh pauses, eyes closing, thinking. "Milk, you need to drink milk."

"Why do I need to drink milk?"

"Milk's good. Wait, are you lactose intolerant?"

"No."

Josh nods. "Milk." He goes into the kitchen. He doesn't have to high step, and he doesn't have to suck in his elbows.

Tyler's stomach hurts. "Do you mind if I get something really fast?"

Head in a cabinet, pulling out glasses, Josh says, "Promise you will come back?"

Shoulders slumping, Tyler parts his lips. "Y-yeah."

And Tyler does. He sets his laptop aside, ducks into his apartment, picks up Pepper, and carries her to Josh's apartment. He comes back, and he sets Pepper on the floor and tries to ignore the way Josh looks at her with pale lips and flared nostrils. Tyler sits on Josh's couch, legs underneath him, and types "Facebook" into the search bar.

Josh drops Tyler's glass of milk on the coffee table with a little more force than necessary. He says not a word. He says not a word, and he stares at Pepper, and he goes into the kitchen to cook.

Tyler rubs his stomach.

*

Josh says, "I guess you can, like… text me if you ever need anything." He's by the front door, ready to open it for Tyler.

Laptop under his arm, Pepper on his shoulder, Tyler says, "Got it."

"Are you sure you don't want any leftovers or anything? I could fix you—"

"I'm fine." Tyler smiles. "Thanks, though."

"Whatever."

Tyler goes to bed. Pepper follows. She sniffs at the trash bags and rakes her claws along the cheap black plastic. Tyler is asleep. He doesn't hear the contents hit the carpet.

*

Pepper is on his face. He steps on broken glass. Somehow he doesn't cut himself. He doesn't know how.

Tyler finds the baby wipes and dry shampoo in the dark.

*

The doctor told them Tyler's grandmother had not eaten for three days on the day she had died.

Tyler scoffed down a dinner of mashed potatoes and macaroni salad that night, his mom fighting the grief with cooking. She cooks, and he eats, and he doesn't eat, and he doesn't eat; and every evening, he tips less and less into Pepper's food bowl. She chomps, he strokes her matted fur, and he listens to Josh beat something into submission.

His laptop chimes with friend requests.

*

Tyler pokes through the trash bags in his room, gloves on, flashlight in his mouth. He finds nothing of importance inside and drags them, one by one, to the dumpster at the back of the apartment complex.

Josh is in the hallway when Tyler leaves with the last bag. He's thrilled to see Tyler. "Finally," he says, and smiles. "Yeah?"

"They weren't mine," Tyler says, and Josh says, "What?", and Tyler doesn't reply.

*

Zack isn't talking to his wife. He's sitting on the curb with Tyler, Tyler smoking a cigarette and keeping an eye on the trash bag filled and ready to burst with baby furniture. "Hey," Zack says, "Mom wants us all to come over tonight."

"Why?"

"Does there need to be a reason for a family to come together?"

"Did someone die?" Tyler asks.

"No," Zack says. "Just—fuck, Tyler, just come."

Tyler stubs out his cigarette and slides the butt into his pocket. "Okay."

When they finish their route, Tyler takes the bag of baby furniture and sticks it in the back of his car. Zack doesn't notice. He never notices.

Zack says, "Remember to come over."

Tyler says, "I will."

*

Tyler doesn't.

His grandmother used to scold him for being a lone wolf, the black sheep. She would point her finger at him and shake it back and forth. She would say, "Family's all you got, boy. You need to cherish what you have before it's gone."

"But sometimes your family can be the most oblivious." Tyler screwed his face up. "Sometimes your family—"

"They know what's best for you, Tyler." She kissed his cheek, her perfume thick, her breath rancid.

Tyler looks at his refrigerator. His phone rings. Josh screams.

Tyler answers his phone when Zack calls for the third time. He says, "Sorry, I fell asleep."

"Right," Zack says, as Tyler plucks his keys from his nightstand and heads outside. "Mom's worried about you. I'm worried about you."

"I'm fine." Tyler closes his eyes. "I'm fine, Zack."

He hangs up, and the conversation carries once Tyler arrives at his parents' house. The solemn looks on their faces are chilling. They're all sat on the couch, legs crossed, hands in their laps, heads tilted, carbon copies. Tyler goes down the line—father, mother, Jay, Zack, Maddy—and goes down it again. He counts. He counts again. He counts again.

"Did someone die?" Tyler's hands shake.

"Honey," his mom whispers, "you know you can tell us anything."

"Okay."

"Are you starving yourself?"

"No."

They don't pressure him. He eats second helpings at dinner, and then a third helping of macaroni and cheese. His mother seems happy. Tyler smiles at her and doesn't let it fall, fall, fall through the ceiling.

*

He's on the back porch when his mom says, "You need to stop smoking. Give me that pack."

Tyler shakes his head.

She sighs. The crickets sing. "My mom used to smoke these all the time."

Tyler looks at his feet.

"You miss her a lot, don't you?"

"Yeah."

"Time heals all wounds."

Tyler picks at his thumbnail. "Mom, there's this guy in my apartment building. He screams, and I hear him hitting things a lot. Should I… interfere?"

"It's not your business," she says, and disappears inside.

Tyler almost wants to laugh. He draws a drag from his cigarette.

*

Tyler goes home and falls asleep in the recliner. The pile of jackets atop the television tips and falls over to never be seen again.

*

Josh slides another note under his door.

 _One fucking week, asshole_.

Tyler calls his bluff and goes to work.

*

Zack wants him to go home. "You don't look well. Rest. Please."

Tyler does. He tries to, at least.

Josh stops him in the hallway. "I'm going to report you after I get off work."

"Where do you work?"

Blinking, Josh opens his mouth and closes his mouth. He stutters. "Fast food."

"Makes sense."

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"Nothing. Have a good day."

"No, fuck you," Josh says, and slings out his arm to catch Tyler's throat in his elbow. Tyler chokes, obviously so, and Josh pushes him backwards. Balance a thing of the past, Tyler manages to fall into the wall, into a neighbor's door, and slide down to the old carpet flooring. Tyler can smell piss from here.

Josh stands over Tyler, a foot on each side of his torso, easy to do with Tyler cowering with his hands over his face. "You"—Josh points a finger at Tyler, nail bed bloody—"don't get to fucking tell me to have a good day."

"What the shit, man?" Tyler curls his fingers, his own tattered nails pulling into the bags under his eyes. "It's j-just an expression."

"Don't fucking talk to me."

"You're the one who stopped to talk to me!" Tyler fans out his arms, knocking Josh's ankles with his elbows. It's Josh's turn to lose balance. He finds solace with the wall next to him as Tyler crawls into standing. He's by his door, his hand is on the knob, and Josh is walking over to him. Tyler closes his eyes, and Josh, Josh says—

"Have lunch with me."

Tyler pauses.

"Say yes."

"Yes," Tyler says.

"Cool. I'll text you the address." Josh chews on the inside of his cheek, his ruined nails carding through the roots of his green hair. "Um… that's okay, right? Me asking you… that. That's not, like, _problematic_ , yeah?"

This time, Tyler chews a hole through his cheek. "I mean, a little, yeah. You just… like, struck me in the throat." He pulls out his keys and slides them along the ring.

Josh watches him. "Well, like… I didn't mean to do that in… a violent way, like… a… I'm-gonna-hurt-you way. It's just I—"

"I think I get it," Tyler says, raising his head to look at Josh. "Sometimes your temper—"

"—gets away from me, yeah. I've heard it all before. I've _said_ it all before." There are radishes stained to Josh's face. He smears them, spreads the color down to his neck and the span of flesh his pink hoodie doesn't address. Collarbone freckles and faint scratches, Josh crosses his arms over his chest and holds onto his shoulders. "It's… yeah. _Yeah_. You get it."

Tyler wants to ask Josh if he's gotten help before, but Josh begins to rock back and forth on his feet. "Going out for a run before your shift, I guess?" Tyler slides his keys on the ring again, tugging slightly so it scrapes.

"Yeah." Josh takes a step back. "Don't you have to go to work?"

"Not today." Tyler smiles, and this is easy. "I'll see you later."

Josh smiles, too. "Later."

A tenant pops out of her unit when Josh disappears down the hall. She says, "Is everything okay?" because Tyler fell into her door moments before. She says, "Was it that guy with the green hair? What an angry man." She has lipstick on her dentures, and her wig is askew.

Tyler clutches his keys. "We all have our problems."

She says, "You remind me of my grandson. Scrappy boy. He was going places."

"What happened to him?"

"Shot himself," she says, "and drowned in his own blood. Doctor said it was slow and painful."

Tyler sits in his living room, legs pulled to his chest. Such a tight ball, he shouldn't be able to sleep, but he sleeps, and he sleeps.

*

His phone vibrates with an address. He rises, rubs a baby wipe over his cheeks, and roams.

*

A little sandwich shop at the end of town, Josh says, "I'll pay."

He's dressed in his work uniform, his visor tossed on the table, across from Tyler. He's staring at Tyler, and he says, "You have to eat something."

Tyler runs his eyes over the menu at the top of the registers, needing to squint to see the prices. Despite Josh paying, Tyler wants to be mindful of what he orders. "Yeah, yeah."

"You look fucking awful. You need to eat something."

"Why do people keep telling me that like I don't know?"

"Because you look like you haven't been eating, dumbass." Josh takes out his phone and starts playing with a broken seam on the case. "Don't think I haven't forgotten how disgusting your—"

"So, you asked me to lunch to make sure I eat today?"

Josh sucks his cheek into his mouth. "Why else would I ask you to lunch?"

"I dunno." Tyler shrugs his shoulders, small in his sweatshirt. "Maybe you, like… maybe I thought you liked me."

"I do like you," Josh says, "but you still need to fucking eat."

"I just want some fries," Tyler says. "A big… fucking basket of greasy-ass fries."

Josh stands to order. Tyler tugs on his sleeves and doesn't think about the broken glass embedded into the carpet in his bedroom. He doesn't think about the teeth in his nightstand, and he doesn't think about the cigarette butts and water bottles filled with something other than water throughout his apartment.

Tyler's stomach churns at the sight of the fries before him, shiny and lightly steaming when torn apart by fingertips. "Here you go," Josh says. "What did you want to drink?"

"Coke."

Josh returns with two cups, straws already punched into the plastic lids. He has a sandwich, too, but Tyler doesn't know what's on it. Tyler mumbles his thanks and chews on some fries.

"So, do you—?"

"Do you know a repairman I could call?"

Josh furrows his brow. "What?"

"Repairman." Tyler peels two fries apart. "My dishwasher stopped working."

"Just your dishwasher?"

Tyler's lips tremble. "Let's talk about you," he says, and shoves both of the fries into his mouth. They're hot, but he doesn't wait for them to cool down, and he doesn't wait to talk. "You scream so much, at different times of the day—mostly night. I try to sleep, and you scream, and—"

"Well, when _I_ try to sleep," Josh cuts in, "the air conditioner kicks on, and I start to smell—"

"My cat is having a little trouble getting… house trained. Pepper. Her name's Pepper."

"Whatever."

"You"—Tyler sticks another fry into his mouth and grinds it into a pulp—"go for jogs because it helps release all that anger, right? Working in fast food—"

"Shut up," Josh says. "Can we please not talk about my fucking problems?"

"You need to box or something. Do you box?"

Josh pulls a pickle off his sandwich and chomps into it. The juice threatens to soak Tyler's fries. "I do box, so fuck you. Maybe I need a new punching bag."

A girl at the table over turns away in her seat. She has on sunglasses and doesn't mind her toddler shaking the salt and pepper shakers over her cold cuts. Tyler shoots daggers at the back of her head. "Maybe you do. Maybe you need to try other things to release your anger." He whispers this, a low voice to prevent eavesdropping.

"Lemme know when you come up with something new for me to try. It feels like I've tried them all." Josh eats the rest of his sandwich and swipes a few of Tyler's fries.

Tyler stretches out his legs, his bony ankles against Josh's ankles. They're not as protruding as his. Tyler says, "I'll help as much I can."

The girl leaves with her toddler in a stroller. He's giggling and licking salt off his fingers.

Josh frowns. "Why would you help me?"

Tyler shrugs. He shrugs, and he shrugs again. "We all have our problems," he says, and drags out his pack of cigarettes. He counts the sticks, and then counts them, and then counts them. "Thanks for lunch."

"You're just gonna go." It's not a question. Josh narrows his eyes. "You can't just… go."

"Smoke break," Tyler says, cigarette in his mouth. "I don't want you to, to, t-to…"

"Work?" Josh offers.

"Yeah, you might be late."

"You're right, but I'm okay. I can… walk you to—"

"—my car. I drove here."

"Your car."

Outside, under an overcast sky, Josh walks Tyler to his car. Almost, as if it were on purpose, Josh's hand knocks into Tyler's hand. Almost, as if it were on purpose, Josh's fingers twitch against Tyler's fingers.

Tyler finishes his cigarette with Josh's eyes on him. He says, "Stop looking at me," and Josh says, "Okay," but he doesn't stop. He smiles, and Tyler smiles and drops the butt of his cigarette into his pocket.

"Mindful," Josh points out, with voice and gesture. "No littering."

"Sure."

Josh smashes his visor onto his head. It clashes with his hair. He smiles more. "I'll see you later."

"I'll text you some… solutions for… y'know."

"Okay, cool, thanks."

Josh looks at nothing but Tyler. He stands a few feet away, on the sidewalk, and watches Tyler pull out another cigarette and drive, drive, drive.

*

It's overwhelming. Tyler doesn't know why he searches for a pair of pliers in his apartment. He doesn't know why he finds them in the bathroom, and he doesn't know why he perches on the toilet and lets the tool enter his mouth empty and leave bloody.

It's overwhelming—that's why he does it. Over and over, the cigarette butts were refreshed. The drawers below it, the teeth, the fucking teeth—his grandmother would lean in and kiss his cheek, and she didn't have her dentures in, her gums were inflamed, her gums were red, and Tyler is in front of the bathroom sink, below the three light bulbs attached to the cabinet, and Tyler is there, and Tyler's gums are red.

Tyler isn't a doctor, but his skills are in pseudoscience.

*

Pepper rubs all over his legs. He feeds her. He apologizes to her.

He texts Josh and ignores Zack.

Tyler has a hole in his mouth.

*

Josh notices the hole in his mouth. Josh says, "What happened, man? I was with you not—what—six hours ago?" Josh's hand is cold, wet—condensation. There's a milkshake in his hand, held by fingertips digging under that clear dome top, melted whipped cream sticking to the inside of the plastic, dripping, sliding down to collect in the strawberries at the bottom. Finished minutes before coming into the building, Josh moves the cup to his non-dominant hand in order to grab Tyler's chin. His hand is damp, and his fingers curl and tilt Tyler's head from side to side, as if he were on display.

"Got in a fight?" Josh offers. "Fell? Tripped over… that cat of yours?"

"Yeah."

"Open your mouth."

Tyler does.

Josh slowly nods. "Did you see the tooth? How long was the root?" He isn't surprised to see Tyler pull the bone from his pocket and hold it in the middle of his palm. Still stained pink and lightly stained yellow, the tooth rests in Tyler's hand until Josh can't bear to look at it any longer.

"You texted me," he says, sticking his keys into the lock of his door. "Said you found something that might help me?"

Tyler shoves his hands into his pockets, the jeans unwashed, the tooth scraping his palm. "I dunno if it'll work."

"I'll try anything. I'm just doing the count-back-from-ten thing, and, like, it's okay, but… whatever. Tell me." Josh drops his milkshake in the garbage can next to the fridge. He runs his hands down the front of his hoodie, the pink one again, straightening out the wrinkles. He might have slept in it before deciding it's fine to wear for a jog. Thick, comfortable, it's suitable for early autumn.

Slowly, Tyler licks his lips. "Like… you box and stuff, and that's rigorous, but have you tried any other rigorous activity?"

"Tried CrossFit, but"—Josh shrugs—"I didn't continue. What did you have in mind?"

"Sex."

Josh blinks. "Sex."

"Fuck me," Tyler says. "On the couch, against the wall. Hold me up, push me down, punch me, kick me—I want it. I want it all."

There's a pause. There's a second pause. There's Josh raising his hand, slow motion, and narrowing his eyes, slow motion, and opening his mouth, slow motion, and saying, slow motion, "You want me to fuck you?"

And there's Tyler, a hole in his mouth, manic, nostrils flaring and tongue too fast and dry. He says, "Yes." He says, "I'm into you, man. I think you're hot, like… hot-tempered a-and… I know I'm a piece of shit, but I… I want you to fuck me. Yeah. You… y-you know what I mean?"

Josh is still slow. Josh walks toward Tyler, not enough space between them. He wants to touch Tyler, but his hands hover. He doesn't touch. "Are you sure? Like, one hundred percent sure?"

"Yes."

"And you're totally okay if I'm rough with you? You want me to be rough? You want me to hit you?"

Tyler says, "Yes." He says, "I want you to hit me as hard as you can. I want to help you."

Josh's hands are open. They don't hover. They connect with Tyler—one cupping his neck and the other smacking into his cheek, fast, sharp, stinging. Tyler doesn't yelp. He doesn't flinch. He watches Josh's pupils dilate. He watches Josh squirm.

"Are you sure?" Josh asks again.

"I popped a boner, Josh. If I'm not sure, then I got some shit to work out."

Society dictates they relocate to the bedroom. Society dictates they strip each other bare and lie in the missionary position—or even doggy—until they climax and clean up and carry on with the rest of their _sinful_ lives. They're expected to do this, and Tyler doesn't want that. He was plain with his intentions. Josh read him like a picture book on the lowest shelf of a child's bookcase.

Josh takes him in the living room, bends him over the arm of the couch. Neither undresses fully, just a shove of clothing to ankles and up a back, and then there are hands marking dark flesh as their own with fingernail scratches and fast, sharp, stinging smacks.

Obviously there's protection. Obviously there's preparation. Obviously there's fingers and tongue and whispers of "Is that okay? Am I hurting you? I don't want to hurt you with this."

"I'm fine," Tyler whispers, too, back arching and toes skimming the carpet. "I'm fine, I'm _fine_."

Josh takes him in the living room, bends him over the arm of the couch. Josh wraps his dick with a ribbed-for-their-pleasure condom and a dash of too much lubricant, and he fucks Tyler, and he fucks Tyler, and he holds onto Tyler's hips and Tyler's ass, and he fucks Tyler, and he fucks Tyler.

And Tyler doesn't cry.

Josh asks him, "Why are you crying?"

And Tyler says, "I'm not crying."

And Josh fucks him harder.

Tyler doesn't hide his tears as he's coming down. Josh asks him again, "Why are you crying?"

Tyler answers. He says, "I've never come from just prostate stimulation before."

"It's good, right? Can you stand? I need to clean up your mess before it stains the couch."

Tyler hasn't been with a lot of people. He isn't quite sure what to do now. It isn't night. He can't sneak out a window.

Tyler fixes his pants and sits on the sofa, on the cushion he didn't use for leverage.

Josh uses a handful of paper towels to wipe the spot. It isn't embarrassing. Tyler sticks his tongue in the hole in his mouth. "Did that help?"

"I'd pop a few painkillers tonight and soak in a warm bath. Keep down the… inevitable pain." Josh sits next to Tyler.

"What if I want to be in pain?"

"Why would you want to be in pain?"

Tyler shrugs.

Josh wraps his arms around Tyler and pulls him into a hug, into his lap, and acts as if he doesn't want to let go. Warm and inviting, Josh's hoodie is baggy, and the collar is loose, dipped low so Tyler can see the white t-shirt underneath. Tyler makes his home here. Closed eyes and parted lips, Tyler breathes, and Josh breathes.

"You shouldn't want to be in pain," Josh continues, in a hushed tone. "Speaking as someone who struggles with—"

"I know," Tyler sighs. "I misspoke. I just meant… I don't want to forget this."

Josh kisses Tyler's forehead, Tyler's hairline. He doesn't say anything. He rubs Tyler's back.

"My grandmother used to write down everything she did—the meaningless stuff, too. She didn't want my grandfather missing out on what was happening. He was always scared about missing out. He was a very nosy guy. Used to spy on the neighbors and said it was okay because he was part of neighborhood watch."

"What happened to him?" Josh sticks his hand up Tyler's shirt, his warm palm to Tyler's warm back.

"Got dementia. Died… two years ago."

"And your grandma?"

"Died a year ago."

Josh tilts his head back, staring at the ceiling, counting his blessings. "You can spend the night. We can take that bath together."

"I need to get a few things first."

"Okay."

*

Tyler grabs clothes, his phone charger, and Pepper.

Josh is ecstatic to see her. "There's the good girl." She purrs at Josh's fingers under her chin and behind her ears. "So pretty. So, so, so pretty."

"She was Mamaw's." Tyler frowns a little.

"The one who died last year?"

Tyler nods.

Josh does, too. "If you don't mind me asking, why is she missing an eye? It doesn't look like a birth defect."

"What are you, a cat expert?" Tyler rubs his jaw. "She, uh, s-she got in a spat with a raccoon. That's why her ear's like that. Mamaw… She… My grandmother didn't take care of her."

Pepper has matted fur and too-long claws and a runny nose.

Josh says, "So, now you're taking care of her."

"Yes." Tyler holds his change of clothes to his chest. "Still wanna take that bath?"

"Lemme—" Josh doesn't finish. He goes into the kitchen and pulls out a can of tuna. Pepper follows. Pepper is hungry. Josh feeds her. Josh says, "Let's take that bath." He's looking at Pepper. He's looking at Tyler. "I haven't kissed you yet. Do you want me to kiss you?"

Tyler shrugs. "Do I deserve it?"

Josh chews on the corner of his mouth and walks past Tyler. His toenails are the same shade as his hair. "Let's take that bath."

*

Josh feeds Tyler after their bath. Dripping from not drying off properly, Josh holds a fork in front of Tyler's mouth, leftover sausage stabbed onto it. It's from Josh's breakfast this morning. Sausage, gravy, biscuits, Tyler tears apart a biscuit as Josh hooks sausage after sausage on the metal prongs. Gravy drips, double dips.

"Do you need me to heat it up more?"

"No, it's fine. I'm fine."

Josh points. "So… you're one of those people who's able to sleep in long sleeves?"

Tyler pulls at his thermal. "How'd you know?"

"I think it's because of my, like, insides that make me unable to wear sleeves. I get too hot. I can barely wear long pants."

Josh is only in a pair of loose basketball shorts.

"You know what I mean?"

"Oh, yeah," Tyler says.

"Did you want to have sex again?" Eyebrow cocked, Josh dips another bite of sausage into the gravy and hovers it in front of Tyler's lips. "Doesn't have to be penetrative this time."

"Could you blow me?"

"I can blow you."

They smile.

*

Breakfast and painkillers in Tyler's stomach and sperm in Josh's, they go to sleep. Pepper curls at the foot of Josh's bed.

Tyler has nightmares of Josh's roof falling in. He doesn't know why.

He wakes shivering.

Josh tells him to come back to bed.

Tyler says, "I have work. My brother, he—"

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine." Tyler pulls on his socks, his shoes, and lifts Pepper.

"She's staying here."

"What?"

"I'm keeping her," Josh says, sitting up, blanket strewn across his lap. Hair dye sticks to his neck. "I don't know what your fucking problem is, but I'm keeping her. She's mine now."

Tyler trembles. "B-but—"

"Put her down, Tyler. It's for the best. Maybe you can have—"

"That's fine," Tyler says, and sets Pepper on the bed. She isn't bothered. She goes back to sleep.

"That's fine," Tyler repeats. He's swift. He's steady. "It's fine. That's just fine." Clothes, phone, charger, close to his chest, Tyler shakes his head, tongue in the hole in his mouth. "I have others."

" _Others?_ Wait, what the fuck are you talking about?"

Tyler doesn't look back. Josh doesn't try to stop him. Like Tyler, Josh attempts to call his bluff. But unlike Tyler, Josh is wrong in doing so.

*

On the corner of Loretta and Beech, Tyler's grandparents lived in that little brick house for nearly forty years. A willow tree in the front yard and always a seasonal flag on the pole, the home was a home for even the neighbors. Summer barbecues and autumn bonfires, everyone on their street and the adjoining others knew and cherished the couple.

But then, Tyler's grandfather died, and his grandmother—

Tyler was too naïve for his own good. He strolled through the house and stopped in the kitchen, bare feet green from the grass. "Mamaw," he said, "Zack's done out back."

She was by a counter, knife in hand, smile in toll. "Does he want to start out front now?"

"He said something about it. What's that smell?"

"What's what smell, dear?" She smiled and smiled.

Tyler looked at the refrigerator. "It—"

"Tell Zack he doesn't have to do the front lawn today. You two can leave."

"Mamaw, I—"

"Don't you worry about that, boy. I have friends coming over soon. Here." She unwrapped a cough drop. "Open up for me, sweetheart."

He can still taste the bitter cherries on his tongue. A year later, a year later—Tyler lights another cigarette.

Zack sits next to him in front of an apartment complex in Grey Oaks. "I think you've been smoking a lot more."

"You really think so?"

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't have to apologize." Zack doesn't have his phone. Zack is staring at Tyler. Zack is smiling at Tyler. "You look better." He doesn't mention Tyler ignoring his texts and calls.

Tyler flicks away ash. "I met someone. Sort of met someone. He's my neighbor. He… he's a little…"

"Suits you, I suppose." Zack doesn't look anywhere but at Tyler. "Is he… helping you with… whatever's going on?"

"What's going on? Enlighten me."

"Hey, don't be like that." Zack nudges him in the ribs. "I understand, I think… There are some things you don't want your siblings to know. You want to… protect them. Or maybe we aren't as close as we used to be."

Tyler sticks his tongue in the hole in his mouth. "But you _are_ saying you think there's something wrong with me?"

"Isn't there?" Zack sounds unsure.

Tyler is quiet.

Zack stands. "You gonna get a fake tooth?"

"Haven't thought about it."

"Right."

"He fucked me, Zack, and he didn't even kiss me."

A low whistle passes between Zack's top and bottom rows of teeth. "That's low."

Tyler closes his eyes.

Zack sits down again. He's a tad rough, but it's brotherly. Never wanting to intentionally hurt his brother, Zack kisses the side of Tyler's face and rubs his thumb into Tyler's arm. "Finish up," he says. "We still have a lot of houses to hit."

They share a laugh.

Tyler stubs out his cigarette and drops the butt into his pocket. As Zack climbs into the truck, Tyler plucks the cigarette and cigar butts from strangers before him and places them in his pocket, as well.

*

Any other day, Zack wouldn't give two shits about what's happening in Tyler's life. Any other day, they would drive to the depot, tell each other goodbye, and then go their separate ways to only meet the next day and repeat the cycle. Over and over, day after day, Tyler would drag a trash bag of his choosing to his apartment, poke through it, and return it to the curb. Over and over, day after day, Tyler would sit at home with Pepper and watch TV until his eyes burned.

Everything was fine. He was fine.

Today, Zack asks, "How's that cat Mamaw, like… had? The one that was still alive, I mean."

Today, Tyler says, "She's fine."

Today, Zack says, "We should hang out later. I haven't seen your place. How long has it been? A year?"

"Today's not good for me," Tyler says. "I made plans with Josh."

"His name's Josh." They're in the truck, in the parking lot of the depot. The sun is setting.

Tyler watches the clouds roll. "Yeah, his name's Josh."

"Does he smoke?"

"No." Tyler's face betrays him. He wants to be stone cold, but he's melting. "He runs a lot. Very active. He could probably bench press me."

Zack smiles. "I'm happy for you, Tyler."

Any other day, they would nod and wave.

Today, Zack leans over and wraps his arms around Tyler's shoulders. He doesn't comment about Tyler's faint smell.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow, yeah. I'll see you tomorrow."

*

Tyler's energy allows him to drop cigarette butt after cigar butt after cigarette butt into the nightstand drawer before falling into bed. No dinner, no piss, not even getting undressed more than his tennis shoes, Tyler collapses on the bed, the mattress beaten, the covers stained, the sheets ripped. No light, there's never any light now.

Tyler shivers.

He listens to pop music and the sounds of fists being driven into a punching bag.

Tyler licks the hole in his mouth.

*

It's two in the morning when Josh punches the wall.

Waking instantly, his body jolting forward, Tyler's hands shake as he dusts himself of drywall. "What the shit?" he goes, and then ducks when the punching persists.

Tyler cowers, pulling blankets and pillows over his head. Josh's punches dissolve into something harder, forceful. No longer a fist, an object—Josh is shoving something into the wall. A fist can only do so much. Pumped full with adrenaline, Josh can do anything.

It's two twelve when Josh busts a hole in the wall.

And then, it's quiet. Tyler stirs with as little movement as possible. There's drywall on the blankets and pillows, and there's more drywall in his hair, on his clothes, but it doesn't matter. Nothing matters right now. There's a hole in his wall. There's Josh's arm in the wall, fingers curled into a fist, fingers uncurling, reaching, wrist flapping, trying to grab. Josh's knuckles are bloody. Tyler can hear Josh pant.

"Hey," Tyler says. "Do you—d-do you need me to come over? We can talk."

" _I don't want to talk_." Josh finds Tyler. He finds Tyler's neck, his mouth, and pulls Tyler toward the wall. Tyler drools. Tyler's lips hurt.

Tyler says, "Sorry."

Josh smacks Tyler's cheek. "You smell like _shit_." And he vanishes. He leaves. Tyler looks through the hole in the wall and sees Pepper on Josh's bed. She's sleeping soundly. She's peaceful.

At Tyler's front door, Josh whisper-shouts, "Open the fuck up. It's late, and I don't want a noise complaint."

Tyler steps on broken glass. This time, he cuts himself. He tries not to cry, but he's in tears once he reaches the door. "Josh, I—"

"Are you seriously fucking crying? Just open the damn door."

"Give me a minute. I stepped on something. I'll be over in a—"

"What did you fucking step on?"

No thought, Tyler tells the truth. "Glass."

Josh beats the door. "Jesus, Tyler, let me—"

The door gives.

Josh isn't caring. Josh is upset. Josh is angry. Josh sends his bloody knuckles into Tyler's mouth. Tyler falls. He falls and falls, and he doesn't land. He falls, he flies, and it's slow, it's painful, and Josh says, "Holy shit," and turns on a light. He says, "Holy fucking shit."

Tyler falls, and when he lands, he lands on a stack of magazines, and he knocks his head into a cardboard box. A dent, a Tyler-sized dent, Tyler's eyes widen, and he says, "Get out."

But Josh is seeing it all for the first time. Frankly, Tyler is, too.

"Get out," Tyler says again.

The tower of boxes by his head, a haphazard game of Tetris up to the ceiling, wobbles. A dent, a Tyler-sized dent, and Josh _sees_ , and Josh grabs hold of Tyler's ankles and pulls.

All at once, the tower falls. Beneath him, the magazines are a snowboard, an easy slide.

Josh kicks him in the thigh.

Tyler rolls onto his side.

Josh kicks his ass. "So, _this_ was your fucking problem?"

"Dunno what you're talking 'bout." Vulnerable, shivering, Josh might be in a pair of leggings and a skimpy tank top, but Tyler feels naked. More protection, more padding, skinny jeans wrap Tyler's legs with torso contained in a hooded sweatshirt. Curled into himself, Tyler lies on the stacks of magazines and is thankful Josh isn't wearing shoes.

Josh drives his foot into Tyler's ass again and again. "You—could—have—come—to—me—for—help— _jerk_."

Tyler wiggles away, heels bleeding. "Dunno what you're talking 'bout."

The scream Josh bites back ushers from his mouth in a flurry of arms and groans. "You—"

Tyler picks himself up.

Josh pushes him back down.

Tyler's landing is instant this time. This time, he lands on water bottles that are not empty, that are not filled with water, that bust upon contact and soak the back of his sweatshirt. It creeps up his neck, into his hair, and Josh kicks Tyler in the thigh, his shin, his ass again. Tyler rocks. Tyler rolls. Josh says, "It smells like piss."

Tyler doesn't move.

"Oh, my God—you"—Josh scoops up a water bottle, catching it before it crawls away—"are a disgusting man."

"I know."

"It isn't just your dishwasher," Josh says. "What else doesn't work in here?"

Tyler closes his eyes.

Bottle in hand, Josh stands over Tyler and pours old, cold piss onto his face.

If Tyler were quick enough, he could have turned his head, he could have smacked the bottle out of Josh's hand, he could have even tried to sit up and bring his forehead into Josh's stomach, but he didn't, he doesn't, and he lets the piss fan his cheeks and collect in the hollows of his ears and collarbones.

Josh throws the now empty bottle down the hallway, into the kitchen, somewhere no one will find it. No sound when it lands, it's lost.

"I swear to fuck…" Josh shakes his head. "I can't believe someone didn't hear those boxes fall. Or—just—fuck, Tyler. How long have you been living like this? How can you live like this? Is that—your cat—Tyler, fuck." Josh tries to walk. He steps on magazines and steps over cardboard boxes. "You said you had others. Where the fuck are they?"

"You should have reported me when you had the chance." Tyler wipes his face with his sleeves.

"Don't you fucking dare pin this on me, asshole."

"Don't look in the freezer."

Josh doesn't. He suspects. He knows. He takes in a deep breath.

"Ten," Tyler says.

"Fuck you." Josh returns to the living room, tripping over a box. He manages to catch himself with the wall. "Nine."

"Eight."

"Seven." Josh stands over Tyler again. His hands are free. "Do you like living like this? I can help you. Tyler, you're a fucking trash collector."

"Six," Tyler squeaks.

"Five." Josh frowns. He holds out his hand, but Tyler doesn't take it.

"Four."

"Three." Josh tries again. Tyler gives in. He grabs Josh's hand and lets Josh yank him from the floor. It's rough. "Go to my place. Take a shower. We can deal with this in the morning. I'll… call off work."

"You don't—"

"Two." Josh points at Tyler. He points at Tyler's feet. "You're bleeding. You're—you… you have no room to fucking—"

"Please stop—"

"Harsh language or harsh actions—pick one." Josh sets his hands on Tyler's hips, lifting him, setting him on a spot of carpet bare, bare, Tyler's feet bleed into the carpet bare.

Tyler wipes his eyes.

"One." Josh lowers himself to the ground, to the stack of newspapers, and grabs one, from the bottom. Everything wobbles. Tyler wants to turn off the lights.

"Why do you keep all these old newspapers? We have phones." Unfolding the paper, squinting, Josh says, "What happened last year, on the… on March fifth that made you want to keep this paper? Sentimental value, right? That's why hoarders keep shit." Josh slams the paper onto the stack.

Tyler watches it tip and slide, slide, slide. "I'm—"

"Accepting you have a problem is the first step to getting better." Josh rubs his arms. "So, tell me, what the hell happened?"

"Asshole," Tyler spits, hissing. Cheeks red, eyes pink, Tyler says it again. "Asshole."

Silent, surprised, Josh patiently waits for Tyler to finish.

"Asshole," Tyler says, knees buckling. Josh watches him tip and slide, slide, slide. On his side, an infant, surrounded by its sustenance, Tyler hugs his legs and curls his toes. The glass in his bedroom is gone. It's embedded in his feet. Tyler doesn't think about it.

"Asshole," Tyler says, quietly, defeated, piss on his clothes and in his hair. "That's the day my grandmother died."

Josh's reaction is too kind for Tyler's own good. "You like counting, don't you? Or is that, like, problematic for me to assume?"

"Why would it be problematic?"

"Not all people with OCD or OCPD or whatever count. But you count. Or you… do something. I've noticed you—"

"I don't…" A furrow in his brow, Tyler raises his head. "I don't have that."

"You don't?" Josh blinks. "Shit, well… I just thought… Hoarding is considered a compulsive action. So, I… assumed." Josh chews on his lip. "Are you sure you're not?"

"Never been professionally diagnosed, but—"

"Tell me later." Josh doesn't help Tyler stand. He picks him up and cradles him. "You can tell me later, when we're not in here."

As they move through the apartment, Tyler swipes down the light switch and shuts his eyes with the dark. "My grandmother, she—"

"Tell me later." Josh carries Tyler to his bathroom. "Please just… tell me later."

*

In the morning, Tyler doesn't want to wake up. Confined to a bed with soft blankets and sheets that smell like lavender, Tyler is naked, his feet are bandaged, and his tongue is heavy in his mouth. "Please," he whispers. "I don't want—"

Lips against Tyler's ear, Josh's breath is hot and raises goosebumps. "Tough shit."

Tyler wears Josh's clothes, a pair of jeans, another sweatshirt—the pink one. Josh also lets him borrow a pair of shoes. They feel weird on his feet, but Tyler thinks it's because of the bandages.

"Do you want to call your family? You said your grandmother was like this, too. Do you want your family to—?"

"Yes," Tyler says, dragging out his phone. "They didn't know before. They don't know—"

Josh takes Tyler's phone. "On second thought, don't do that. If they didn't know, they didn't know. If they don't know… they don't know. You know what I mean?"

Tyler takes his phone back. "I do need to text my brother and let him know I'm not coming into work."

"We can make this enjoyable. What sort of music do you like listening to?"

"Um, like, whatever."

"Oh, no way? They're my favorite band, too." Eyes bright, an easy smile on his face, Josh nods toward the door. "I'll head over there. Don't take too long, okay? You need to be there when we clean."

Tyler pulls up the text conversation with Zack. "Can we, like, take breaks?"

"We'll go as long as you want to, and then some."

It takes ten minutes for Tyler to join Josh in his apartment. Even now, even after gathering what courage he had left, Tyler isn't ready. He steps into the living room, the entranceway, and he looks at Josh with a trash bag in his arms and a dust mask on his face and latex gloves on his hands, and Tyler tries not to cry, but he cries, and he says, "What are you throwing away?"

Josh says, "Paper plates, those water bottles, some Tupperware that's seen better days—is that okay?"

"The Tupperware—"

"I'll buy you new ones. These were—"

"Lemme see them."

"Tyler—"

" _Please_ , Josh."

Josh doesn't get angry. He sticks his hand in the garbage bag and pulls out a container, cracked at the bottom, the lid misplaced, and he says nothing.

Tyler swallows. "I can fix that."

"I can buy you new ones. Throw it away. You need to throw it away."

Tyler stands there.

Josh doesn't get angry.

Tyler throws it away.

Josh smiles behind his dust mask. "I'm proud of you. Now… I cleared off a spot on a counter. Put on some gloves and get a mask if you need it. I think we should focus on making a path to walk. Can you do that? Pitch those magazines and newspapers?"

Tyler's fingers twitch.

Josh parts his lips. "I'm here. You don't have to be afraid."

Josh says, "You helped me the best you can. It's my turn."

"I'm still scared." Tyler plucks a pair of gloves from the box and slides them on, snapping them on. He forgoes the mask.

"Just drop it all in here. Don't think about it. No, wait—think about it." Trash bag on his shoulder, Josh tiptoes into the living room, where the wreckage on the carpet resides. "Remember all the bad shit attached to these items, and cast them out. Get out all the bad vibes."

"Bad vibes."

"Substitute that for whatever word you want." Josh holds open the bag. "I'm here. Take your time. Tell me about them as you're throwing them away if it helps. Do it even if it doesn't help. Talk to me. Tell me about your grandma."

Tyler grabs a stack of newspapers and drops them into the garbage bag. "She used to feed me cough drops."

*

They woke early. Josh anticipated they were in for a challenge. He woke Tyler, and Tyler didn't want to wake up, but he's fine. He's fine. He can breathe a little better.

After they clear the living room of the cardboard boxes, they sit on the sidewalk by the dumpster. Tyler smokes, and Josh watches.

"I didn't want to forget about her," Tyler says. "I brought those boxes into the attic. I helped her. And they crushed her to death."

"It wasn't your fault."

Tyler closes his eyes.

"You don't deserve the same fate as her."

"I don't deserve to be happy."

Josh's hand on his cheek is gentle. Immediately, first contact, Tyler flinches. Josh's second attempt is met with Tyler shivering, Tyler sighing, Tyler saying, "Do you need to hit me?"

Eyes narrowed, playful, corners of his mouth drifting up, up, up, Josh leans in, murmuring, "I don't need to do that."

"What do you need to do?" Tyler straightens up, shoulders slumped, cigarette burning between his fingers. "I can help you."

Josh says, "Would it be all right if I kissed you?"

"Like, on the lips?"

"There, yeah, and other places, but I meant your lips, right now."

"Yeah." Tyler flicks ash on his shoes. "That would be all right."

So, Josh kisses Tyler.

And Tyler kisses Josh.

Tyler counts to five. Tyler counts to seven.

"That was all right," Tyler says, placing the cigarette in his mouth.

Josh laughs. "Just all right?" He tilts his head. Tyler mimics the move. Josh laughs harder. "Gosh, you're cute. Open your mouth."

Tyler does.

Josh scoots closer, top lip to top lip, and dips the tip of his tongue into the hole in Tyler's mouth.

Laughing on his own now, closing his eyes and smiling brighter for a moment, Tyler purses his lips and wraps them around Josh's bottom lip. A quick kiss, a short kiss, Tyler says, "Okay, that was more than all right."

"Good." Josh licks his lips. "You ready to head inside?"

"Totally."

Tyler forgets about his cigarette butt on the asphalt. It's fine. He's fine.

*

Josh tells Tyler if he's indecisive on whether he should keep something, he should pitch it anyway.

"It'll be better, in the long run."

When it comes to clothes, they put the articles into a separate bag. "We can donate them, right?" Tyler asks, shoving old winter jackets inside. "The nicer ones, anyway. The clothes from Mamaw's… the baby clothes… those are dry-rotted."

"Donating is good." Josh is scrolling through his music. There's a smile on his face. "D'you like Death Cab for Cutie?"

"Yeah."

"Good." Josh continues to smile. "Good."

Josh handles the bathroom, and Tyler tackles the refrigerator. He tells Josh, "You don't want to be in here."

"You're probably right."

Still with the fridge, Tyler sees Josh move to the bedroom when he's done with the bathroom. His phone is stuck in his pocket, music following him and soon drowned out by the vacuum cleaner. Tyler sings along the best he can.

Concealed in three garbage bags, Tyler disposes of the contents of his freezer, his fridge, everything, everything. A tenant is tossing out her own garbage. Tyler grins at her, polite, and she does, too.

Inside his room, Josh replaces the bed sheets with clean ones. He doesn't look at Tyler. "You can clean out the nightstand," he says, implying he's already glanced inside.

Tyler licks his teeth. "Why do our parents keep our baby teeth?"

"Get rid of them, Tyler."

"Can I keep mine?"

"I—"

"This one." Tyler pulls open the third drawer, at the bottom, void of anything except the tooth he pulled days before, weeks—Tyler closes his eyes tightly, squeezing, squeezing the tooth, squeezing. "No. I won't."

Another pair of gloves, Tyler drops tooth after tooth, cigarette butt after cigarette butt into a plastic shopping bag Josh found under the bed. Tyler is crying. Josh turns down the music to listen.

*

"Go through your closet."

"I need to lie down."

"I'll go through your closet."

Another break, returning from a break, it's evening. The apartment is on its way to being spotless, save for the appliances that don't work, the funky smell in the air, and the hole in the wall.

"I'll pay for the repair," Josh says. "I can pay for someone to look at your toilet and stove and dish—"

"Thank you." Tyler sits on the edge of his bed, safe to do so. He can hear Pepper chewing on some food through the hole.

They don't listen to music. Josh goes through Tyler's closet. "It seems clear in here. Typical clutter."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Josh straightens up some shoeboxes, jacket sleeves. He pauses. "Is that an instrument case?"

"Don't, Josh… Not now."

Josh understands. "You can spend the night with me tonight. Tomorrow, we can deep clean this place. Carpet, walls, _air_."

"We've done enough. I'll call someone. Take me to bed."

*

His grandmother's skin is gray. She has no teeth, just inflamed gums, and ruby-red lipstick. She speaks, but she doesn't speak. "Help me," she says. "Help me with this box."

Josh has him pinned to the mattress, weight heavy and comfortable. "Ten," Josh whispers.

"Nine." Tyler is sweating. Tyler is crying. "I feel so guilty."

Pepper's fur is smooth. Her claws have pink nail caps on them. She curls up next to Tyler and purrs.

"You don't have to feel guilty." Josh touches Tyler's chest. "You don't have to feel bad. Go back to bed."

"I think I want my family to visit. Zack, at least. I want him to know I'm fine."

Josh takes Tyler's hand. "I'll be there for you, if you want me to be."

"Eight."

Josh nods. "Seven." He rests his head on Tyler's chest.

"Six." A loud purr, almost like a snort, Pepper stretches out her front legs and butts the top of her head into Tyler's shoulder. Tyler turns, away from Josh, and encompasses the animal. She purrs more, louder, and Tyler kisses the top of her head and takes a paw between thumb and forefinger.

"Five," Josh says, lazily, lying on his stomach.

"She's missing… three caps on this foot."

"Couldn't finish," Josh says, "because I… She scratched me, and I… launched my fist into the wall."

Tyler shifts to his stomach, and Josh moves onto his back. Give and take, push and pull, Josh raises his hand to Tyler's puckered lips. A kiss to each pink knuckle and a kiss to the pink scratch along the side of Josh's hand, Tyler slides his mouth to Josh's neck, Josh's chin, Josh's mouth. Over and over, Tyler kisses Josh. Tyler says, against Josh's mouth, "Is counting back from ten helping you? I can't… Sometimes I won't be there to have sex with you."

"The breathing techniques, they help a little. I do those to help with my anxiety, mostly."

Tyler rubs his thumb along Josh's cheek. "Okay."

"We're dealing with _you_ right now." Josh pokes at Tyler's chest. "After your place is cleared out, we can go back to me. Do you think you need to stop working there? Would that be, like… fueling this behavior? You had a lot of trash bags."

"Don't worry about me. You don't have to help me beyond this. I don't know why you even did what you did today. Anyone else would have called some professionals… or turned me into the landlord."

"We all have our problems." Josh kisses Tyler's cheek. "Go to sleep."

Tyler does, with Pepper by his neck and Josh by his side.

*

Tyler takes another day off. Zack is starting to get suspicious. On the phone, talking, not texting, Tyler tells him, "I had a really bad flood. I got most of it cleaned up yesterday, but I need an extra day to… get rid of the smell."

Zack buys it.

Josh kisses Tyler's cheek. "Do you need me with you today?"

"No." Tyler searches for a carpet cleaning company nearby, one who does same-day cleaning. He needs to find a repairman.

"I'm gonna go for a run, and then head to work. Text me if you need anything."

Tyler dials a number. "Thank you, Joshie."

"Don't call me that."

*

By the time Josh gets off work, Tyler's apartment smells like nothing at all. The bulbs in every lamp have been changed to ones more energy efficient, and the walls once made of cardboard and cheap plastic are now restored to their faint peach color. Tyler remembers now why he wanted this apartment. The color is calm, much like the blue in Josh's next door. Anything broken is on its way to repair. Tyler rationed. He doesn't need a dishwasher, and he doesn't particularly need a stove, but he needs a toilet. The clutter was distracting, a roadblock, and now it's gone. It's gone. Tyler can stand in his bathroom. He can sit on the toilet and swing his legs. He can brush his teeth and _shower_.

By the time Josh gets off work, Tyler's apartment smells like nothing at all. Damp from his own shower, Josh visits, Pepper in his arms. "Hey!" he says, and Pepper says her greetings, as well.

Tyler eases her from Josh, hugging her. "Can she… can she stay with me?"

"Do you mind if I…?"

"Go ahead." Tyler takes a step backward, his feet bare, lightly bandaged, no more gauze. "I think they did a good job."

Josh goes through the living room, and he goes through the kitchen, and he goes through the bathroom, the hallways, touching with fingertips and scrutinizing with wide eyes. Josh walks freely, his hair as pastel as the walls, and he walks into Tyler's bedroom and bursts out laughing.

"I told you I was going to fix this," he says, between taking in breaths and rubbing his eyes.

"You can fix it later." Pepper runs to Tyler's pillows when Tyler sets her on the bed. "I found the flag in my closet. It's white, blank. I wanted to paint it… or something."

"It's the confederate flag!" Josh realizes.

It's Tyler's turn to have trouble breathing from how hard he's laughing. "Don't let my mom hear you say that!"

Back in the kitchen, Josh says, "She can stay. It's habitable."

"It was habitable before." Tyler frowns at Josh's frowning. "Just not _that_ habitable."

"It wasn't habitable. Do you want to order a pizza?"

"Are you paying?"

Josh rolls his eyes. He's smiling. "I'll pay."

*

Tyler goes to work. He takes a smoke break in front of 1123 Hill. It would be a lie if he said he didn't feel compelled to pick up his discarded cigarette butt. He does pick it up. It's in his hand, in his palm, and he gazes at it and sees his grandmother's red lipstick and the red cough drops she would give him. He sees promise, and he sees hope. She would say, "Family's all you got, boy. You need to cherish what you have before it's gone."

Zack stands over him, his shadow huge. He says, "I've been thinking about Mamaw a lot lately." He sits beside Tyler, crumbling. "I think it's because you haven't been with me these past few days. I missed you, missed your cigarette smoke. She used to smoke those."

Tyler lets the cigarette butt fall to the concrete. He digs out another from his packet, from his pocket. "This will be my last one."

"I'm proud of you." Zack has out his phone now, turning it in his hands.

Tyler rests the cigarette in the gap in his teeth. "I want you to come over today, if you're not busy, that is. You might be busy."

"I can come over. What time's good for you?"

"Just after work." Tyler shrugs. "I'm not picky."

"Josh. What about him? Do I get to meet him?"

Ash falling, pulling the cigarette from between his teeth, Tyler slowly nods. A resignation, he whispers, "Yeah." Louder, after clearing his throat, "Yeah, you can meet Josh."

*

Zack meets Josh as Josh is returning from a jog. Tyler is letting Zack inside his apartment, both clean from their showers at the depot, and Josh is sweaty, smelly, and smiling.

"Oh, hey!" Josh lands a kiss on Tyler's cheek, his hand on the small of Tyler's back. "Who's this?"

"My brother," Tyler says, "Zack."

Josh holds out his hand. "Hi. I'm Josh."

Zack shakes Josh's hand. "Cool hair."

"It bleeds so much, but that's the price I gotta pay for cool hair."

"Take care of my brother, okay? He's—"

"I know."

Josh disappears into his apartment, and Tyler and Zack go into Tyler's. Because of the look on Zack's face, Tyler thinks Zack expected the place to be in ruin, or that the door will open to reveal a bloodbath. This is what Tyler has been up to, Zack. Blood, blood, but the carpets are clean.

Zack drops to the floor to pet Pepper, the cat eager to meet a new face. Their first encounter was short. Tyler whisked her away, to a hospital, and they saved her. They saved her.

"So, Josh… is he… helping?"

"I need to tell you something," Tyler says, rushed. He picks at his nails and counts back from five. "Mom was right."

A small frown, a wrinkle in his brow, Zack goes, "Huh?" And Zack goes, "Oh," because he remembers. He says, "I didn't know. You've always been skinny. I'm sorry for not—"

"Don't apologize. This is… I should have told you. I didn't. I am now, though."

Pepper winds around Tyler's legs.

Zack says, "And Josh is helping you, right? He seems… nice enough."

"He's helping me a lot. I'm helping him, too. We're helping each other. It's… all right."

"That's good. That's really good, Tyler."

*

Josh comes over that evening. "Got you some Tupperware. Said I would. Oh, and if you tell me how much the repairman cost, and—hell—even the carpet cleaners, and I'll pay for it."

They stand around in the kitchen, Josh leaned against a counter, Tyler on tiptoes, subconsciously, to slide his new Tupperware into a cabinet. "You don't have to pay for the repairman. Or the cleaners. Those were… those were on me. You didn't even have to get me Tupperware. Shit."

"I wanted to, though."

"Yeah, well… You're not paying for anything else. Except for the wall, _maybe_."

Pepper chews on some food, laps up some water.

Tyler smiles at Josh.

Josh smiles at Tyler.

"I lied to Zack," Tyler says.

"Why are we smiling because of that?"

"I don't know. I… I don't know."

On Tyler's couch, Josh holds Tyler, and he does it when they settle down for bed. Josh brushes Tyler's hair from his forehead, to kiss the oily skin there. Tyler cries and doesn't know why.

He wakes Josh in the middle of the night, but it isn't done maliciously or with ill intent. Josh wouldn't have woken up at all if Tyler hadn't paused to sneeze. But he sneezed into the elbow of his thermal, and Josh stirs now, slow, blinking with heavy-lidded eyes. "Y'okay?" he asks.

"Yeah." Stretched across his lap, Tyler has a keyboard, the instrument in the case Josh pointed out, the instrument Tyler hasn't bothered to touch for a year. He's pecking it with gentle taps, the keys worn, the volume low, the batteries needing replacements.

"I think I like you," Josh mumbles, eyes closed, his hand up Tyler's shirt.

"I think I like you, too. Did I wake you?"

"No. It's… I like that. I feel good." Still heavy, flirting with sleep, Josh says, "I haven't felt this good in so damn long."

"This helps," Tyler says, and places all ten fingers on the keys. He counts.

"Yes, it helps."

"It helps me, too."

"Keep playing."

Josh falls asleep to "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star".


End file.
